


Prelude to Separation

by Piru (pyrefly)



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Brotherhood, Childhood, Community: suikosantaredux, Cute, Family, Foreshadowing, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-08
Updated: 2007-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrefly/pseuds/Piru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is I.S. 463. An unexpected visitor interrupts a Silverberg holiday dinner, and Albert and Caesar bake cookies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to Separation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deux](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deux).



> A submission into the 2007 Suikoden Secret Santa Exchange (suikosantaredux on LJ). deux's prompt was "Childhood".
> 
> Last year it was ice cream, this year it's cookies. I tried my best to 1-up my previous suikosanta submission, but unfortunately this one just didn't want to come out funny. Not that humor is my usual genre anyway, and strangely Suikosanta seems to be one of the only things that can inspire me to write gen fic. Anyway, you get Silverbergness, and I hope it is acceptable! I apologize in advance for any deviations from the canon; I am no Suikoden history buff, and I haven't even played Suikoden II. On that note, this has some spoilers for Suikoden I, and maybe very vague spoilers for II and III, so be warned! Lastly, I could not remember of Albert and Caesar's mom ever got named in the canon, so I just used you guys' from SuikoRPG (Rose).

  


“Caesar, don’t put that in your mouth.”

  
  


Albert looked up from his philosophy book to find his mother fussing over his younger brother, a look or irritation marring her otherwise graceful features. Caesar, seated in the center of the parlor, had been quietly playing with his toys while Albert read and the grown-ups prepared the house for the Feast of Shield and Sword. The elder brother couldn’t suppress a smile as he watched Rose Silverberg attempt to wrestle one of the wooden horses out of the four-year-old’s chubby fingers, which Albert knew from experience could exhibit an unusually strong grip. Caesar seemed determined to put the horse’s head into his mouth, but in the end, their mother did emerge the victor, and Caesar sat and pouted while she wiped some of the drool off his chin.

  
  


“Look how you’ve managed to make a mess of yourself again,” Rose complained as she stood back up from her crouch. “Albert, please take your brother to wash his hands and face. The guests will be arriving soon.”

  
  


Without another word, she left the room, her bountiful skirts rustling behind her. Albert sighed but did as she commanded. He slipped out of the chair and walked over to Caesar, holding one hand outstretched.

  
  


“Come,” he said gently, in a tone he reserved only for his brother, “let’s go wash our hands.”

  
  


Caesar blinked up at him with his furiously bright eyes as he grasped Albert’s hand and stood up, a little wobbly on his feet. It was not unusual for the toddler to exhibit more responsiveness to his brother than to his mother, a fact that Rose often took advantage of to rid herself of the task of actually having to take care of the child. She was not an unkind woman, but she was impatient, and displaying affection did not come easily to her. Albert had long ago ceased to care, but he often wondered what effect this might have on Caesar. He squeezed the little boy’s hand as they walked to the kitchen.

  
  


There, they found Apple bent over the table, absent-mindedly stirring the contents of a large bowl as she puzzled over a recipe in her hand. Caesar waddled over to her cheerfully, hugging her legs as the young woman squealed a bit, not having noticed their entrance.

  
  


“I’m helping your mother bake cookies,” she explained as she gazed down at the boy at her feet, “so come see me later, all right? I will hold a few back for you.”

  
  


“Cookies!” the toddler gurgled happily as Apple shooed him back in the direction of his waiting brother.

  
  


Albert led Caesar to the washbasin, lifting his brother up on a wooden stool so he could reach the water himself. Then the elder Silverberg lathered his own hands with soap and rinsed them. Caesar was old enough to know how to wash his hands, but he tended to be more obedient when Albert took the time to demonstrate what he should do. Sure enough, he happily took over the soap and ran it over his skin, giggling when the addition of water produced a few small bubbles. He popped one with his finger, and Albert used the opportunity to quickly run a wet cloth over his brother’s mouth and chin.

  
  


When Caesar was about as clean as a four-year-old can get, Albert lifted him off the stool and patted him on the head. At the same time, he could hear the front door opening and the sound of voices in the hallway. One of the servants rushed in to alert the others that the guests had arrived. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the hustle and bustle of the hired help running in and out. Apple and the boys escaped into the hallway to avoid the rush and to help greet the visitors.

  
  


George and Rose Silverberg were already standing by the door, ushering the guests toward the parlor after introducing them to their sons. Albert politely said hello, even though few of the faces were familiar. With both Mathiu and Odessa dead, they had, after all, few close relatives left; other than a few half-relations and distant cousins, they were the last of the bloodline. As a result, the Silverbergs used the occasion to invite other acquaintances. There were a handful of dignitaries and their envoys, as well as a couple of Mathiu’s former pupils. Apple seemed agitated that a certain Shu was not among them; Albert could not recall ever meeting anyone by that name, but from her mentions of him, he seemed like an interesting person. He absently wondered if they were related.

  
  


Caesar at first obediently stood by Albert’s side, holding onto his brother’s hand while the two were alternately shown off to and sized up by strangers. After a while, however, the boy grew bored and wandered off on his own. None of the adults particularly seemed to notice. Albert’s eyes strayed to the parlor, expecting the toddler to have returned to his toys, but when he finally discerned his brother’s presence, Caesar had climbed up onto the chair he had formerly occupied and picked up the book he had been reading.

  
  


A new arrival forced Albert to return his attention to the guests. Caesar reappeared a few minutes later, tugging on his sleeve while he clutched the heavy book in his arms.

  
  


“Not now,” Albert whispered, trying to ignore the disappointed look Caesar gave him in response.

  
  


The steady flow of guests gradually died down, until at last George closed the door, announcing that that was most likely the last of them.

  
  


Rose nodded and headed to the kitchen, saying, “I’ll go and tell the servants to prepare to serve tea in the parlor.”

  
  


Apple followed her, and Caesar tugged on Albert’s sleeve again, but before the boys could disappear upstairs to read, there was another knock on the door. George Silverberg frowned, not expecting anyone else, but nonetheless turned around to open it.

  
  


The figure on their doorstep elicited a gasp of surprise from every adult who was still in the hallway.

  
  


At the same time, Rose and Apple reappeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

  
  


Brow furrowed, Apple’s expression was dark as she muttered, “That man...”

  
  


“Whenever he appears, it means trouble,” Rose softly intoned, but then she donned her social mask and moved to join her husband in greeting the new guest.

  
  


Before the children could inquire as to his identity, George called them over and introduced them. “My sons, this is your grandfather, Leon.”

  
  


Albert stared up at the dark, bulky figure in surprise. Leon Silverberg was regularly mentioned during conversations around the house, but Albert had heard little news of him since the war in Dunan and had begun to presume him dead. He had gotten the impression that none of his relatives had heard from him in the years since. The man had certainly picked quite the occasion to reappear in their midst. It fit with the descriptions Albert had overheard others attribute to him; particularly that he seemed to stir up controversy wherever he appeared.

  
  


“This must be Albert,” Leon guessed as he moved to appraise his grandson. “I have not seen you since before the war.”

  
  


Albert blinked, unable to remember meeting the heavy-set, dark-browed figure. Though he would’ve been quite young at the time, his memory was usually flawless, so it bothered him that such a momentous occasion might have escaped his recollection.

  
  


Leon, for his part, seemed quite pleased by what he saw in the boy—something in the glint of his eyes, perhaps—and all the moreso when Rose proudly added, “He excels in his studies.”

  
  


“Indeed?” Leon’s eyes glittered beneath his bushy eyebrows. “That is wonderful news.”

  
  


He then turned to Caesar and chuckled at the sight of the small boy protectively embracing the large book. “And I presume you are Caesar. You seem quite attached to your book!”

  
  


Caesar did not respond. He quietly clutched Albert’s hand and even went so far as to frown slightly when the old man bent down to examine him more closely.

  
  


A tad disgruntled at her son’s lack of manners and apparently mistaking Caesar’s stance for a display of pretentiousness, Rose interrupted with, “He can’t even read yet.”

  
  


The adults exchanged meaningful glances while Caesar cowered behind Albert’s leg. Albert reached behind himself to stroke the boy’s red hair, watching in silence as the others moved their congregation from the hallway to the parlor. Apple followed them, apparently eager to hear Leon Silverberg’s story despite her equally apparent dislike for his character. George closed the doors behind them, and Albert felt a twinge of disappointment at not being invited to join their conversation.

  
  


Still, he could not forget about his brother. Caesar wore a melancholy expression, almost as though he could sense that something important and not necessarily propitious had just befallen the Silverberg household. Albert took the book in one hand but decided that he would rather not go upstairs now. He’d much prefer to remain within earshot of the parlor.

  
  


He therefore decided instead to take Caesar to the kitchen, whose open doorway was directly across the hall from one of the parlor’s entries. Some of the servants would occasionally open the doors as they served tea and hors d’oeuvres, and fragments of conversation would drift into the room. Caesar, however, quickly grew impatient, and started tugging on Albert’s sleeve again.

  
  


Albert looked around for something to keep his brother occupied, and his eye finally fell on the abandoned cookie dough on the kitchen table. He could not find the recipe anywhere—Apple had most likely tucked it into her blouse during the commotion—but from the looks of things, she had not gotten much further than folding eggs and butter into the flour. Having previously eschewed baking as a solely feminine undertaking, Albert felt a bit apprehensive about trying it without guidance or a recipe, but decided to attempt it anyway; if he was going to follow the family legacy and become a world-famous strategist someday, he would not allow himself to be daunted by the arduous task of making cookie dough.

  
  


He searched the cupboards for sugar and cinnamon and laid out all the ingredients on the stone floor. He moved the bowl of dough to the floor also, so that he and Caesar could both sit and knead it with their hands. Caesar eagerly stuck his fingers into the mixture, seemingly intuitively grasping the process. Albert sat behind him and covered his brother’s hands with his own, carefully guiding him through the motions.

  
  


Lost in thought, Albert was not aware of Leon’s presence until the old man cleared his throat. He had taken a few steps into the room and regarded them with an unreadable look on his face.

  
  


When he noticed he had gained his grandsons’ attention, he spoke. “What are you making?”

  
  


“Cookies!” Caesar exclaimed energetically, even though the question had clearly been directed at Albert.

  
  


Leon nodded absently and stared off into space awhile before regaining his focus and asking, “Won’t you come and join us in the parlor?”

  
  


Albert looked from his grandfather to his brother, who in the meantime had succeeded in covering half his face in cookie dough, and back again. It was evident that the invitation was addressed to only one of the two brothers, and despite his overwhelming curiosity and avid desire to take part in the conversation in the other room, he felt that he could not abandon Caesar. There was no one else to look after his brother except the servants, and to relinquish the boy to their care on the Feast of Shield and Sword—a holiday meant to be a time of love and celebration—seemed unfair. Albert shook his head.

  
  


“No, thank you, sir,” he answered, his throat a bit dry.

  
  


Leon gave him one last lingering glance, then simply nodded as he excused himself and backed out of the kitchen. Albert couldn’t resist the urge to stare at his grandfather’s retreating figure. A foreboding shiver ran down his spine, and he shifted his body to sit a little closer to his brother while they continued to knead the dough together. Caesar noticed it and looked up questioningly.

  
  


“Now pay attention while I teach you how to make excellent cookies,” Albert instructed, forcing a smile. Silently, he added, _Because next time I probably won’t be here to help you._

  
  


Caesar did not detect the change in his brother’s mood.

  
  


“The best cookies in the whooooooole republic?” he asked, beaming.

  
  


“Yes,” Albert answered patiently, wiping some of the cookie dough off the boy’s chin with the back of his hand. “We’ll make the best cookies in the whole republic.”

  



End file.
